The Nightmare Before the Dream

Some memories are best forgotten.

“Wake up!” The voice consumes you. It’s old, dry and unfamiliar. “You’ve slept far too long, now. Wake!” You suddenly become aware of an old man’s face hovering before you. “There you are. You see me. You all see me. Good.” The man’s face is impossibly wrinkled. A beard of bone-white hair hangs from his fat dry lips past his gnarled chin.

Eyebrows like caterpillars arch with interest. “Judging me? All of you too! Look at yourselves! At least I have substance.” The man’s voice prompts you to redirect your awareness, but you see nothing. You have no body, no mind, no features. You’re a swath of darkness in a sea of black. A mad cackle fills the space. “Of course you can’t see yourselves.” A deadly seriousness consumes the old man’s voice, “You’ve slept too long. You’re fading.”

The old man sighs. “You are fading, but I will show you. I will make you remember. You will see your lives, your successes, your failures. They’ve not stolen it all. See!”